The Hold Up

A story I wrote when I was 14, rather cute I think!

The traffic has been crawling along for almost half an hour now and my nose is finally becoming accustomed to the strong stench of the taxi. I look around and examine my claustrophobic surroundings; I'm sitting on torn red leather seats, the windows are coated in bird mess, the floor is layered with cigarette butts and some squashed crisps and there's a little air freshener dangling from the rear-view mirror. The little air freshener isn't doing a very good job. Overall, the taxi is grubby and cheap... a bit like its driver. I can just about see his face from where I'm sitting; he's short and stocky, the tip of his large hooknose almost reaches his prominent bottom lip. His hair is slicked down with gel or grease, either way I find it repulsive. Suddenly his beady, little eyes narrow, he notices I'm staring at him and I quickly look away. 
"I'm sorry that this is taking so long, lady," He yells, beaming me a big, yellow, toothy grin, "I'll see what I can do to hurry 'em up!" 
I try to assure him that this really isn't necessary, I don't want the oaf causing a scene, but he insists; 
"No worries, ma'am, I'll have this traffic movin' in a second!" and with that, he rolls down his window and throws his head out, like a dog, "Come on! Get movin', people, what's the hold-up?!" This, obviously, made no difference. He turns and looks at me apologetically, he then faces the road again, staring at the immobile cars in front. 
After ten minutes of silence, with nothing but the hum of lazy traffic and the squeaking of leather seats against my Prada handbag, I do the unthinkable; I actually try to make conversation with this ruffian! 
"Is the traffic always like this in New York?" I say, as it was the only thing I could think of. 
"Oh, yeah, it's real bad!" He spat, turning to face me again, "Must be a shock to ya, comin' from a quiet lil' place like England!" 
"Oh, I'm from London." I say... He looks at me blankly. I give myself a few moments to come to terms with how ignorant he is. After a couple of seconds I just smile and agree that I'm way out of my depth when it comes to traffic in big cities. 
"Do you have a wife, or family?" I ask, trying to sound interested.
"Yeah, I got kids," he sighs, "Cute little things; I got a picture of 'em if you wanna see 'em? Sally's my eldest and then I've got Veronica, she's only 4." As he says this he begins to reach for the photo, I then realise that for the next twenty minutes I'll be having his boring life story shoved down my throat. I accept my fate and take the picture. I examine it. The picture shows  him with a young, sweet little girl on his shoulders and another girl, slightly older but still quite charming, with her arm around his waist. 
"Where's the mum?" I ask abruptly, handing back the photo. He takes it back, looking at it for a while.
"Their mommy is... Well, she passed away a few years back now... But the girls are strong and I... I try to be!" He chuckles, but his forced laugh turns into a sigh that drifts into silence. 
My stomach tightens and my nose twitches; I feel awful. I murmur a slow "Sorry" but then I too go quiet.
"It's alright; me and my girls are just fine!" He says optimistically, "What brings you to New York? You got family here or somethin'?" 
"No, just here on business... I'm an actress, you see; I'm performing in a play at the Imperial Theatre." I say, quite proudly.
"Wow! That's amazing! I've always wanted to go to the theatre, been my dream since I was a boy," he reminisces. "It would be great to take Sally and Veronica there one day!" 
I'm drenched in pity as I realise that he's never been to the theatre, for me this is unheard of. I was at the theatre every week as a child! I want to ask why but the reason is probably something embarrassing; he's probably too poor.
"Musicals are my favourite," he continues, "My Fair Lady, Mary Poppins!" He smiles as he carries on.  "Sound of Music is my all time favourite though, I know all the -"
"Oh!" I interrupt, "That's the play I'm in! That's why I'm in New York; I've got the part of Maria!" I exclaim, excited that someone should share my passion for The Sound of Music, "The show is tonight and I'm absolutely petrified that I'll mess up all my lines." 
"Nah, don't you worry yourself, you'll be just fine!" He states, optimistically; a quality in him which I admire. "Oh, look, the traffic's pickin' up! We'll be at ya hotel in no time, Miss."
"My name is Florence Stevens," I decide to introduce myself, as I am beginning to feel uncomfortable with him calling me 'Miss' or 'Lady'.
"The name's Tony," he says, offering me his hand, "It's a real pleasure to meet ya, Miss Florence." He smiles as we shake hands, he then turns his attention back to the row of cars ahead which are moving at a steady pace now. 
After another few conversations I realise how very wrong I've been about this man. He isn't just the man I first saw; a slimy ruffian with greasy, slicked back hair and an abnormally large nose. He is actually a loving father, named Tony, who works incredibly hard to keep his job and his family together. I marvel at how happy he is with such a simple life.
We finally arrive at my hotel, dusk is falling and I put my jacket on. Tony gets out the car, struggles towards the trunk and, panting, pulls my four suit cases out and hands them to the bellboys waiting at the door. He approaches me, chuckling with exhaustion, and puts out his hand.
"It was a pleasure, Miss Florence," He pants, catching his breath, "good luck with your show."
We say our good-byes and then I make my way up the silver steps and enter the grand hotel doors. I glance back at Tony once more, who it lighting a cigarette outside his taxi, and make my way through the lobby and towards the stairs. Suddenly, an idea storms my mind! I barge through a crowd of people; trying to get to the stairs as fast as I can. I charge up them, in a very unladylike fashion, and bolt into my room, practically breaking down the door. I begin searching frantically. Finally, under a huge pile of clothes, I find what I'm looking for. I know they are meant for Hillary, Simon and Sarah but I think that Tony and his daughters need them more. Three tickets too my show; The Sound of Music. 
I run as fast as I can, hoping, wishing that Tony might still be there. I reach the lobby and throw myself down the silver steps and onto the hard pavement. I look around, anxiously. No Tony. I see about seven other taxis, a glistening glass skyscrapers and a tree. No Tony. Quivering with cold, frustration and grief, I shuffle back into the hotel knowing that I'll never see Tony again. 

The End.

Author's Note

It's very amateur but I think the messages and values are nice, please tell me what you think!

Reviews

[Marie]

I think it's quite good, and not really amateurish, though very simple. And I'm impressed by how polished the material is.

[Allie Pie]

Oh thank you! It's not my best work, of that I'm certain, but I appreciate your comment, very kind!